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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237503">Funeral Oration for Bossuet, by Blondeau</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham'>bobbiewickham</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Barricade Day Ficlets [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Blondeau learns of his students' deaths, and reacts as expected. (Written for Barricade Day 2019).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Barricade Day Ficlets [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Funeral Oration for Bossuet, by Blondeau</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsondust/gifts">crimsondust</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There had been another disturbance in the streets. M. Blondeau had taken no notice of it. Such things happened all the time, in Paris. The riffraff, abetted by the young and rebellious of the better-born, had kicked against the authorities, and been kicked back into place. So it had been since the repugnant chaos of the revolution, and so it would be until these malcontents developed some common sense.  </p><p>He had idly read an article listing some of the identified dead in the newspaper. There were one or two names he recognized. There was a <i>Bahorel</i>, hmm, yes, that was no surprise at all, except that it had taken this long. That rascal should have died in some brawl a decade ago.</p><p>And, further down, <i>Jean-Philippe Lesgle</i>. Some bayonet or cannon had finally silenced that obnoxious, impertinent loudmouth. Well, well. Blondeau could not be sorry. Lesgle had brought it on himself, no doubt.</p><p>Blondeau gave it no more thought. This was not the first time some no-good student of his had wound up dead in a riot. The lawless, luckless Lesgle did not cross his mind again until more than a year later, when he found himself facing a young and awkward lawyer in court. Blondeau rarely practiced, but he represented his cousin, a large landowner, on occasion.</p><p>His adversary, a M. Pontmercy (why did that name sound familiar? An ex-student, probably), was the opposite of Lesgle. Pontmercy was precise, proper, shy, painfully earnest, and had a full head of dark, curly hair. He represented a middle-aged cabaret worker, the tenant of Blondeau’s cousin.</p><p>Blondeau didn’t think much of the cabaret worker’s claims, but found nothing offensive about Pontmercy himself—until Pontmercy burst out, seemingly out of nowhere, into an impassioned speech, accusing Blondeau’s cousin of iniquitous dishonesty, and detailing the long list of sorrows and obligations endured by Pontmercy’s client.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Blondeau interrupted, with heavy sarcasm, “we might step away from the theater now, and return to the law.”</p><p>He won, of course. The cabaret worker had only tears and outrages, and no legal rights. Blondeau demonstrated this to the court with his signature logic and propriety. But as they departed from the courthouse, Blondeau distinctly heard Pontmercy mutter, to his client, “Lesgle was exactly right about him.” The client, for all her travails, giggled.</p><p>The savor of victory was somehow gone. Blondeau stalked off in a fog of irritation, wishing away the remembrance of Lesgle de Meaux.</p>
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